Sheraton Heathrow Hotel

Let's imagine that I own a hotel. Perhaps I didn't just buy it; perhaps I designed it, specified it, built it and then modified it. It stands as a mounument to my own personal tastes and then I realise that what I need is a bit of extra exposure. Some better marketing; the support of a big company with global reach and an excellent reputation. Perhaps I'd like to sign a contract, nail a Sheraton sign to the front and watch the guests flood in.

There's a problem though. When I look on Sheraton's parent company's website, it says that Sheraton is their largest brand, serving the needs of luxury and upscale business and leisure travelers worldwide. That sounds great, but my place is a bit of a dump, to be honest, so there's no way that Starwood would be happy to see their brand above my door.

No, scratch that, they would. Welcome to the Sheraton Heathrow.

Now, in all fairness, this hotel charges 'Travelodge' rates. It's half the price, usually, of the nearby Sofitel and the web is a rich seam of less than glowing reports about the property. So let's just say that none of what follows came as an unheralded shock, though it's still particularly disappointing given the fact that I'm such a fan of Starwood properties and generally find that their adherence to reliable and consistent standards is fairly exemplary.

Arriving at nearly midnight from Terminal 5, the trip on the 350 London bus service was quick and free, thanks to its entirety being within the so-called 'Freeflow' area. There was, unsurprisingly, no queue at check-in, and I was delighted to hear that I'd been upgraded to a 'preferred' room thanks to my Gold status in the Starwood loyalty programme. That was about the sum total of the welcome information however, with no confirmation of rate or package inclusions, hotel facilties or dining options.



Opening the door to the upgraded room, the first impression was of the heat. So, crank up the airconditioning, which sounded like it was powered by a jet engine borrowed from the airport across the road, and get ready for bed.



The room was clearly recently renovated and, apart from the presence of a traditional cathode ray TV, looked modern and comfortable.



The bathroom was compact but light and bright.

As the air conditioning utterly failed to make any impression on the stifling heat, I pulled back the covers on the famous Sheraton Sweet Sleeper bed, the plush, nine-layer creation of which Starwood is justifiably proud.



Unfortunately however, the Sheraton Heathrow had obviously cocked-up the linen order this week, as the double bed had clearly been fitted with a single mattress topper, evidenced by the fact that the mattress showed straight through the base sheet.

In an attempt to capture the evidence, a little more light was required, but attempts to illuminate revealed the novel (and failed) use of glue to attach power sockets to the wall rather than, oh I don't know, something exotic like screws.





The aircon droned all night, the temperature never dropped, the bedlinen required a firmly central positioning to avoid falling off the mattress topper and all criticism of the Sofitel's downgrade from Hermes toiletries evaporated in the humidity. Even the Hilton Amsterdam Airport Schiphol seemed attractive, by comparison.

In the morning, the most rapid departure possible was sought, forgetting that breakfast had been paid for. Perhaps wisely, the Reception staff declined to ask how the stay had been - and I scuttled off to cool down outside and catch the handy (and also free) 423 bus back to T5.

Final verdict for the Sheraton Heathrow: 4/10. The welcome was sub-par, the room was shoddily maintained, poorly prepared and uncomfortably hot and noisy. In no way does the property reflect the stated values of the Sheraton brand, nor does it compare to other hotels which together represent the brand - even the Skyline sister property just down Bath Road. Disappointingly dismal.

Hilton Amsterdam Airport Schiphol

The planning of this whole escapade was, of course, executed under the darkening clouds of the developing global financial crisis. Natural concerns about the likelihood of airlines continuing to operate booked services, or indeed to survive at all were however, every now and again, overshadowed by some frankly remarkable examples of inexplicably high demand, or lunatic revenue management.

Such was the case with the booking of the one-night stopover at Schiphol, and the dawning realisation that the 12 hours spent in a concrete box at the end of the runway would, if we were not careful, end up costing more than any other accommodations on the entire trip.

So it was that our first choice, the Sheraton Schiphol, was pricing up at Eu220 even on a special rate. Add tax and the need for two rooms, and swallowing was becoming difficult. The Hilton was marginally cheaper but, crucially, offered HHonors redemption availability, so one room at Eu180 and one at 40,000 HHonors points were booked instead, slashing the cost at a stroke.

Things didn’t get off to a great start however.

If you’ve travelled with me before, you’ll have met MCC and FCC – MotherContinentalclub and FatherContinentalclub respectively – already, and you’ll know their fears and foibles.

Let me introduce you now to the newest (in a rather antiquarian way) member of the travelling tribe: GrandfatherContinentalclub. Master of the tall story and veteran of pre-war Buenos Aires, widower of the nurse who cared for the first German fighter pilots to be shot down over Blighty and all-round dodderer of the deafest order, you’ll be less than surprised to learn that I propose referring to him in future as GCC.

Calls to the World’s airlines had heralded the boarding of his every flight, as perambulatory assistance was requested and required. BAA’s contractors at Heathrow had responded to the cry for castors with remarkable élan, but things rapidly went the way of a Tesco trolley at Schiphol. First problem is that the airport hadn’t sent a chair to meet us.

Luckily, a pusher with an empty one was passing and we hijacked that; sadly however, and despite the fact that her job description would appear reasonably singular, she wasn’t all that keen on pushing at all. So, at the first opportunity, we were abandoned at baggage reclaim, with the compensation that she said it would be OK to keep the chariot overnight as we were staying on the airport site, and return with it in the morning for the onward connection. Fair dos, I guess.

So, out we pop into Schiphol and take a little time to locate the direction of the hotel. Round the back of the florist, past the railway station, up a lift and along the walkway. Sounds straightforward. We pass the bustling café of the cancelled-Sheraton after a short walk, with the corridor stretching out ahead of us. We keep walking. And walking. And walking. I swear that I’ve been on shorter ventures with a backpack and survival supplies. Eventually, when there is no more walkway left, we see the Hilton, which has conveniently been built 100 metres from the end of the World’s Longest Building. We back into the World’s Longest Building’s next superlative amenity – the World’s Grottiest Lift, and clank a floor down and out into the rain.

Soaked from above, wheel-splattered from below and in understandably poor humour, we rock up to the Hilton lobby to at least find that one of the rooms has been upgraded in recognition of my Gold HHonors membership: to the 'Club Floor' whose lounge has already closed and will be of scant use the following morning when the Singapore Airlines iteration will beckon.

The rooms are, helpfully, clean and not too cramped; a room-service Hilton Burger proves that this particular menu staple is bland the World-over and the broadband doesn’t work. We got a free postcard though, so not bad for Eu180 plus tax, room only. Thoughts of Sofitel induce tearful sleep, before the sound of the following morning’s lashing rain wakes us dispiritingly.

Final Verdict for the Hilton Amsterdam Airport Schiphol: 6.0/10. Overpriced, uninviting, a poorly-signed trek from the terminal building and not exactly ‘linked’ to it as the hotel would have you believe, the Hilton is at least clean and functional, but it can only be demand and lack of alternative that can justify their rates.